<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Let Me Tell You About Cumulonimbus Clouds by kimmsie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526243">Let Me Tell You About Cumulonimbus Clouds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimmsie/pseuds/kimmsie'>kimmsie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Beetlejuice - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Thunderstorms, adam is a meteorology nerd, barbara likes to talk about plants, barbara supports her husband and loves him very much, beetlejuice is a bastard (but he secretly cares a lot), beetlejuice is just a big crow man who collects pretty objects and keeps them in his many, found family shit, ghost parents, it's more likely than you think, many pockets, me projecting myself onto lydia?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:09:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimmsie/pseuds/kimmsie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia hates being afraid, it makes her feel weak. The Maitlands know what that's like.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice &amp; Lydia Deetz, Lydia Deetz &amp; Adam Maitland &amp; Barbara Maitland</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let Me Tell You About Cumulonimbus Clouds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There was a bad storm where I live last night, and I started this to help myself through it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lydia doesn’t like thunderstorms.</p><p>She knows it isn’t a rational fear. The chances of being struck by lightning, especially while inside a house, are extremely small. Not to mention the fact that thunder itself causes no physical harm. She is completely aware that she isn’t in any danger.</p><p>Nevertheless, something about the cracking and the flashing lights makes her want to get as far away from the windows as possible and bury herself under a pile of blankets until she can’t hear it anymore.</p><p>So when storms roll in, the basement becomes the most likely place that she can be found. Being underground helps muffle the bouts of thunder that rattle the house and with the lights on it’s easy enough to ignore any flashing from outside.</p><p>Summer tends to bring worse weather. She can usually tell as soon as the clouds start to form that it’s going to rain, as the air gets thick with anticipation and the sky darkens. Tonight, though, it’s long past the time that the moon rises, so she doesn’t pay attention to the storm until it’s right on top of her. The first few flashes of lighting are fine – <em>maybe it’s just heat lightning</em>, she thinks, in an attempt to soothe herself – until the faint rumble of thunder causes her to begrudgingly abandon the spot in her bedroom and make the trek to the basement.</p><p>This is a bad one, and as she’s collecting a blanket to take with her, the wind starts to pick up outside. It’s another thing she hates about bad weather: the horrible whistling and howling as it sweeps along the sides of the house, causing the old siding to creak and the whole building to shift with its force. She makes sure to keep her breathing steady as she treads down the stairs. Her living quarters being on the third floor is bad in times like this, as the sounds from outside are even more amplified.</p><p>If a large tree branch came down onto the roof it would probably land right on top of her room, which does not do anything to calm her bad-weather worries. As the thunder outside gets louder, she’s faintly surprised that it hasn’t started to rain – but all at once, it does. A torrential downpour that whips against the windowpanes, as if someone had turned a hose down directly over top of the house.</p><p>Hail starts to come down and she wraps herself in the blanket, grateful for the thick walls of the basement. She curls into the corner of the couch as much as she possibly can, hoping that the storm will be short. It sounds like someone’s banging against the house with dozens of branches, and another clap of thunder has Lydia closing her eyes and pulling her knees to her chest. She curses herself for leaving her headphones upstairs, but there’s no way she’s retreating until the worst of this is over. The rain begins to pour even harder, somehow, and she finds herself blinking back tears.</p><p>She sighs. It’s been months since the Deetzes moved into the new house, months since everything happened, but she feels the effects. Delia is convinced that her chakras are out of line; her dad thinks it might be PTSD; whether it’s something spiritual or something mental, she despises it. Another flash of lightning flickers, causing her to squint for a second.</p><p>“Lydia, sweetie?” A voice at the base of the stairs speaks, and Lydia looks over her shoulder. “Are you alright?” Barbara comes into view, barefoot and in her pajamas. “I heard you walk past the attic on your way down.”</p><p>“Hey, Barbara.” There’s another loud crash of thunder, and Lydia tightens her grip on the blanket.</p><p>Adam appears next to his wife. “Are we having a no-sleep party down here?” Despite herself, Lydia smiles. “What’s up, kiddo, what’s the problem?” The ghosts join her on the couch and she scoots from the corner so they can sit on either side of her.</p><p>“I feel stupid,” She admits. Adam puts an arm around her, reassuringly gripping her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be scared of something so harmless.”</p><p>Barbara shares a glance with Adam. “It’s hard to be afraid, Lydia. Believe me, we know.” She pauses. “I used to get mad at myself whenever I was scared of something. Eventually, I realized that I had a reason to be scared.” She pats Lydia’s hand, cold and grounding. “It’s okay to be cautious. You aren’t stupid for taking care of yourself.”</p><p>Lydia nods, her hair falling forwards and covering her face. Adam seems to sense her apprehension and speaks up. “Do you know how clouds are formed?” She nods again.</p><p>“Tell me about it anyways.”</p><p>He sits up a little more, preparing himself to talk. “As the sun heats up water from the Earth, it evaporates and rises into the air. When the warm water vapor – also known as a thermal – hits a certain height, it starts to cool and expand. Tiny drops of water that are light enough to float – which is unbelievably amazing, by the way – condense and begin to form clouds!”</p><p>Barbara sleepily leans her head against the top of the couch. “Tell her about thunderstorm clouds, honey.”</p><p>“Oh!” Adam’s face brightens. “These are awesome. You can often only see the bottoms of them – they’re called cumulonimbus – because they’re completely flat. They tend to be very low to the surface of the planet. I learned recently that they hold as much power as 10 atom bombs! Big groups of them are called supercell clouds and are the types of clouds that precipitate lots of hail and can form tornados.”</p><p>Thunder rumbles weakly outside, but Lydia barely notices it. “Do you have a favorite cloud?”</p><p>“Hmm…” He pauses. “I have to think about that.” He taps his finger a few times against her shoulder. “Lenticular clouds! They’re shaped like flying saucers, it’s <em>so</em> <em>cool</em>.”</p><p>“I like nimbostratus clouds,” Barbara hums. “They’re good for our gardens. Lots of rain.”</p><p>Adam looks at her happily. “You remembered the name!”</p><p>She laughs. “Of course I did!”</p><p>“What are the little wispy clouds called, Adam?” Lydia asks. “The ones that look like pieces of hair.”</p><p>“Cirrus.” He responds confidently.</p><p>“Those are my favorite.” The rain has quieted enough to the point that she can no longer hear it through the basement walls, and the flashes of lightening are few and far between. “I’m going to go to bed now, guys.”</p><p>Barbara lifts her head up. “Do you feel better?”</p><p>She gathers the blanket up into her arms. “I do. Thanks for the facts, Adam.”</p><p>He grins at her. “No big deal, kiddo. Go get some rest.” He ruffles her hair and she pushes him away with a protest, but can’t keep herself from smiling. She stops in the kitchen to get a glass of water and is getting ice when a hand reaches into her glass and plucks out a cube.</p><p>“Heya, Lyds.” There’s a dreadful crunching sound as Beetlejuice chews on the ice. “What’s got you hanging out in the basement with those two on a night like this?” He smiles, showing a mouth full of threateningly sharp teeth. “The sky was alive!” He cackles.</p><p>Lydia takes a sip of her water. “I don’t like storms.” She retorts, keeping her voice short and contained.</p><p>“Come on, what’d the rain do to you?” He hops up on the kitchen counter (Delia would swat him down if she were awake). “A little lightning never hurt anybody.” He shrugs. “Well, maybe a few people, but who cares about them, am I right?”</p><p>Finished with the glass, Lydia rests it in the sink. “It isn’t something that matters,” She says, attempting to close the conversation. She had a feeling this would be something Beetlejuice would use to take the piss out of her, something that he would see as frivolous or worthy of a joke. He furrows his eyebrows as she turns to leave, stretching out an arm to stop her.</p><p>“Whoa, kid, don’t get all angsty on me,” He says, hopping down, his arm fitting back to its normal proportions.</p><p>“Can I please just go to bed?” Lydia asks, tired from being afraid and staying up this late. She doesn’t want to deal with his antics right now, as much as she usually enjoys them. His expression turns neutral, and she can tell that he’s upset.</p><p>“Sure.” He says.</p><p>“Beej –” Lydia starts, but before she can even begin her sentence, he’s already gone. She retreats to her bedroom and opens a window to let some of the cool air into the room. Now that the rain has stopped, it’s peaceful outside. That’s one thing she appreciates about storms: the smell afterward. A rustling outside of her bedroom door catches her attention as a piece of paper slips under it.</p><p>She crouches down to inspect it, and it reads: ‘<em>Sorry for being mean. I hold this when I’m scared.’ </em>The r’s are all backward, and several words are misspelled. There’s some more scuffling and she hears Beetlejuice curse outside of the door. It creaks open very slightly, something rolls into the room, and then it closes again. Lydia suppresses a laugh.</p><p>She reaches out to pick up the something, which turns out to be a small, white, round pebble. It’s so smooth that it’s almost glassy. She folds up the note and tucks it carefully into her dresser drawer, resting the stone on her nightstand before she drifts off to bed.</p><p>Lydia still doesn’t like thunderstorms.</p><p>She is completely aware that she isn’t in any danger, but it’s okay for her to be afraid. She knows that the storm can't get to her, and even if the thunder gives her the shakes, she has people who understand how she's feeling. She can go to them if she needs to.</p><p>When storms roll in, she’s still most likely to be found in the basement of the old house, wrapped in her blanket. She always listens to a podcast about the weather whenever the thunder gets too loud, rolling a little white stone between her fingers while the rain comes down hard outside.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>